


Thy Fair Imperfect Shade

by Thousand_Ribbons (Meridians_of_Madness)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Forced Drinking, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Oral Sex, Pining, Rape, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22947211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Thousand_Ribbons
Summary: He flicked the angel's trouser buttons open one at a time, with each one assuming that of course he would stop. Medoc might have allowed himself to believe that the angel had intended to fall asleep next to him, but he didn't believe that the angel intended this...… Unless he did?
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51
Collections: The Medoc Files





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sorrow and Sighs and Mickle Care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668989) by [Vitreous_Humor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor). 



Medoc came awake slowly, and for a moment he thought he was in Hell. The candle was down to the last guttering inch, and there was a warm body pressed back to back with his.

 _Who did I go home with?_ Medoc wondered drowsily. _Was it Belial again? Not Belial, he was awful..._

He woke up more fully when he realized that the back pressed across his bare one was clothed, and then when he sat up and turned around, he saw that it was no demon in the bed with him at at all.

He had never known the angel to sleep. He had thought perhaps they didn't. He did not have many memories of Heaven, but he could remember the owl-eyed watchers, tall as sequoias and gazing around in all directions. This angel was no watcher, and apparently he slept, still fully clothed and fully shod.

He had stayed, Medoc remembered. He had come over after the fireworks with that terrible quirt, and he had spent almost an hour with Medoc first hanging on to the rail at the foot of his bed and then finally, when he couldn't keep from trying to protect himself, lashed to it with his own silk cravats. He rubbed his wrists because he knew that if he touched the welts latticed over his chest that they would only wake to fire.

He looked at the angel as he wasn't usually allowed to do otherwise, when the celestial being was awake. Medoc found that he couldn't quite sustain it at first. At first, he kept looking away, his glances furtive and indirect, as if he were stealing something bit by bit and knew he could not get caught.

Slowly, however, he grew bolder, and his gaze lingered, tracing the angel's soft white curls, the heaviness of his shoulders and the soft pretty slackness of his mouth.

There was an indefinable weight to the angel, Medoc decided. The angel was present in a way that Medoc himself wasn't. Most days on Earth, Medoc felt wraithlike, drifting between people on the streets as he went to do his work. No one spoke to him, no one touched him (except...), and it was a thin grayness that suited him well, or at least he told himself it did.

The angel was another story. The angel was realer than real, and his presence in Medoc's bed sent a longing shiver through him.

 _Perhaps he meant to stay,_ Medoc thought hopefully. _Perhaps he wanted to sleep next to me._

The angel's wants were as opaque to Medoc as tar, and as viscous. He touched them, and they clung to him, trapped him limb by limb and freighted him down until there was no breath in his lungs, no beat in his heart, nothing but the angel's crushing love for him.

Silently, Medoc rose from the bed and circled to the other side, coming to kneel on the floor by the edge so he could examine the angel more closely. This close, their foreheads almost touching, he could feel the heat rising up from the angel, hot like a human wouldn't be. He hummed a little in pleasure, his nose twitching at the warm jasmine of the angel's cologne.

 _I know where to get that,_ he thought. _Would he like it if I got it for him? I could get him whatever he wanted if he only asked._

He leaned in too close, wincing a little as his marked chest pressed against the edge of the bed. His skin had split in several places to leave a thin scrim of dried blood, and now it flaked off lightly on the sheets. He told himself, slightly guilty, that he would clean it later. Things actually stayed clean on Earth, unlike in Hell where someone or something would come along to dirty things up again sooner rather than later.

Right now though, the sleeping angel was too much to ignore, and Medoc allowed himself to think that the angel had intended for this to happen.

Tentatively, he brushed his lips over the angel's cheek, and then when he didn't stir, across his lips, a shiver running through his frame as he did so. It was so light, so very much a nothing that he told himself it would be fine to do it again, kissing the angel's mouth more deeply and letting his tongue slip over the angel's lower lip to taste.

Amazed at his own daring, Medoc drew back, licking his lips, his eyes wide. He tensed when the angel stirred, but he only sprawled on his back, his face still tilted towards where Medoc knelt. Medoc could see the angel's eyes moving rapidly under his eyelids, and without thinking, he leaned forward again to kiss one closed eye and then the other.

 _Sleep,_ he thought, carefully, oh so carefully sliding his will around the angel's. _Sleep. Aren't you tired? Don't you... don't you miss him?_

He shouldn't have been able to do it at all. He was a tempter, fast but fragile, no dreadnought like a duke or even a scrapper like a succubus or a drude. He had learned through his predecessor's reports that this angel was a principality, made for war, a rook on Heaven's chessboard. Principalities were fortresses, stalwart against demonic influence, but the moment he had suggested the First Tempter- _don't you miss him?-_ , something fractured.

Holding his breath, Medoc carefully slid his will into the faint cracks in the angel's defenses. He could tell already that he would never be able to split those cracks open, but they gave him just a little control, just a small amount of leverage. He had always been very good at doing a great deal with very little, and he flushed with pleasure as the angel moaned softly in his sleep.

“Crowley,” the angel muttered. _“Crowley...”_

Medoc swallowed the stab of irritation at hearing the other demon's name. There was nothing in him that could be angry with the angel, but the First Tempter was another story.

Of course he knew about Crowley. Every tempter did. He was the first, the best, the only one of their kind to ascend to the higher courts, the only one allowed free rein on Earth while the rest of them waited hungrily for their assignments from their domain lords. Every tempter that he had ever met adored Crowley and envied him in equal measure, but for Medoc, there was only the question of _how._

 _How_ had he tempted an angel? Even if the angel had finally killed him, _how_ had he twisted the angel around his will, as he had said he had done in his reports?

 _How_ had he made the angel love him?

Well, the Demon Crowley wasn't there to ask, and after all, Medoc was his replacement. He had to figure out the angel all on his own.

With the angel turned over, there was just enough space for Medoc to crowd up on the bed next to him. He didn't quite dare pillow his head on the angel's arm, but he did reach over to brush his fingertips across the angel's cheek and the bridge of his nose. When the angel stirred, Medoc used his slight leverage to push him deeper into sleep, and he edged just a little closer, finally daring to trip his fingers down the buttons of the angels coat.

The last time he had been up on Earth, people wore less clothes, but he found he rather liked all the layers and fasteners of the modern era. That someone had to deliberately tear fabric and pop buttons to get to what was underneath pleased him immensely, and his hand drifted lower, pushing aside the coat and sliding up the edge of the waistcoat to touch the trouser buttons.

Medoc, of course, knew all about temptation. He wasn't made for it -in some distant, distant past, he thought he remembered being made for stone, the depths of the earth and the secret cathedrals underneath- but he knew it well enough to fight his way to the top of the list when Crowley's position opened up on earth.

So he knew about how need could come to live in the hands and between the shoulder blades, in the base of the throat and of course in the eyes. His eyes were full of the angel right now, and the more he looked, the more he wanted to look, and the more he wanted to look, the more he wanted something to look _at._

He flicked the angel's trouser buttons open one at a time, with each one assuming that of course he would stop. Medoc might have allowed himself to believe that the angel had intended to fall asleep next to him, but he didn't believe that the angel intended this...

… Unless he did?

The thought made him pause, and almost absently, he reached up to stroke the pale hair falling over the angel's brow. Was this how the angel had done it with Crowley? He was an angel, he couldn't be seen giving in to temptation, but... but he could certainly fall asleep. Anyone could fall asleep.

Medoc's heart beat faster in his chest.

This, then, must have been how the Demon Crowley had done it. No words, nothing that left a mark, just the softest touch at the angel's buttons, just a careful slide of his hand inside the barely loosened clothing...

Medoc knew he was right when he found the angel equipped and that equipment already stirring. He coaxed it out carefully, a soft cock getting harder, and he licked his lips. No spikes, no barbs, no cruel words leaking poison into his ear, and he let the temptation work more deeply into him, allowed it to convince him that this was what the angel intended all along.

He leaned in to take the angel's cock in his mouth, at first only lapping shyly at the head, but soon enough (and he should have expected it, he was a tempter, after all), he wanted more. Even as he suckled on the head, the angel's cock hardened, and he worked his mouth down the thick shaft.

 _I won't touch him otherwise,_ he promised himself. _It'll be fine..._

When he finally closed his mouth over the angel's cock, the angel stirred with a soft moan, and one broad hand landed in Medoc's hair. Medoc braced for the pull, but instead the angel's fingers dug gently into his scalp, raking through his hair and making his eyes flutter shut. It only made him more eager to take the angel into his mouth, and he pushed closer, breathless at the soft press of the angel's belly, the way that this close, with his scent of parchment and ozone, with utterly poreless skin, there was no way to mistake him for humans.

“Oh,” the angel whispered, “oh, _please...”_

 _Yes, yes,_ Medoc would have said if his mouth weren't full. _Yes, anything you want, angel..._

He sucked harder, bobbing his head, and forcing himself to take the angel's sizeable cock to the back of his throat. He was _good_ at this, he knew the tricks to make it easier on himself, and he used precisely none of them now. He didn't want it easy, not if it robbed the angel of one moment of pleasure. The angel had said _please_ , the angel's fingers combed through his hair with a tenderness that broke his heart wide open, he would do anything for-

“Crowley, Crowley, please,” the angel murmured, and Medoc told himself to ignore it. It was fine. It was only to be expected.

The angel rocked into his mouth, but his hands were never anything less than gentle, one coming down to brush reassuringly against Medoc's damp cheek, the other ruffling his hair with firm affection. Medoc swallowed tightly around the tip of the angel's cock, his jaw aching but ready to stay in place all night, all day, as long it took for the angel to be satisfied.

There were twinges deep in his own body that made him shake, an unfamiliar drawing pulling ache at his core that made him squirm against the sheets. Medoc's hands, which he was being so diligent about keeping away from the angel, clenched into fists before he forced them to relax, and deep inside him was a small voice that chanted _more, more, more..._

 _Maybe if he's pleased with me,_ Medoc thought greedily. _Maybe if I do well enough..._

One especially hard thrust, and the angel's hands tightened in his hair, drawing him close and finally making him gag. His entire body convulsed, and that was before the angel came down his throat, hot and fiery and painful in a way even demons weren't. He choked before he swallowed it down, the words _spitters are quitters_ running through his head before he banished it. That wasn't what this was, this wasn't Hell, he _wanted_ this and the angel did too, and it was different, completely different. Shock and pleasure and pride all rolled together into a wild tangle in his chest before suddenly and with no warning, he was swatted straight off the bed.

He hit the clean wooden floor with a thump, and then he was being hauled up on his feet again by a hard hand around his throat. He struggled to get his breath back, but when he saw the angel's furious blue eyes, he stopped breathing, his heart stopped beating, he went entirely slack with stark terror. That utter fear likely saved him a few broken bones when the angel slammed him against the wall by the bed, making his teeth clack together on his tongue. The gesture apparently so pleased the angel he did it again, and this time Medoc couldn't help a small strangled cry as something creaked in his chest and a bright burn of pain spread out under his left shoulder blade.

The angel paused with Medoc pinned to the cold plaster, the hand around Medoc's throat only loosening slightly.

Medoc saw the raw fury in the angel's eyes turn to pain, to grief, to confusion and to understanding before the understanding gave way to a freezing rage that was, if anything, more terrifying than being slammed into the wall had been.

“Filthy little _rapist_ -” the angel began, but Medoc shook his head frantically.

“No, no, please, it wasn't, you _wanted_ it, I know you did,” he said pleading. “You _did,_ and maybe you didn't want it with me, but I let you think you had it with him for a little bit, didn't I? Wasn't that good?”

Medoc made himself stop talking as the angel hesitated. The hand on his throat tightened, and then loosened again. His back ached, and every time he took a breath that was too deep it sent pain spiking out from that spot under his shoulder.

“Temptation,” the angel said to himself. “That's what you're for, isn't it? That's what you _are_.”

“Yes,” Medoc agreed too eagerly. “You wanted something. I could get it for you. That's what temptation is...”

The angel's hand fell from his throat, and Medoc leaned back against the wall, breathing, just grateful to breathe.

“Are you good at what you do?” the angel asked.

“Very. I'm the best they have since the Demon Crowley-”

A starburst of pain exploded on the left side of his face, and Medoc slid down the wall, reeling with the blow itself and how it had made the back of his head crack against the plaster. He stayed down, one nervous hand coming up to touch his cheek by his eye. The orbit wasn't broken, and his breath hitched with relief.

“No,” said the angel too calmly. “Stop saying his name. I have said again and again I do not care for it.”

Medoc nodded, frantic to get anything right, and the angel stood back, tugging his clothes into order. The ritual seemed to further calm him, and he took a deep breath and then another.

“I should go,” he said more to himself than to Medoc. “I've let things go too far. This is... _inappropriate_.”

Medoc made an inarticulate little sound of pain, and the angel looked at him again. There was a moment that might have been pity, and then his gaze hardened.

“Tempter,” he said finally. “The best?”

“Yes,” Medoc said, and the angel smiled with no humor in it.

“Let's see,” he said, and offered his hand to Medoc.

Medoc had realized thousands of years ago that the key to temptation was the choice. It _had_ to be a choice.

He licked his lips, still tasting the angel on his tongue, and he took the angel's hand.


	2. Chapter 2

They materialized on an elegant street that Medoc didn't recognize. It had started to rain, and the cold water hit his shoulders, raising gooseflesh up on his skin. He followed Aziraphale numbly to a door numbered 18 in elegant brass, and when the doorman glared at him, he realized with horror that he was actual visible..

“I'm sorry, sir, but this establishment is by invitation only, and your companion is not dressed for –“

“But I have an invitation here, do I not?” asked the angel coolly.

There was a sting of angelic force behind his words, the world shifted slightly to make way, and the doorman nodded.

“Of course, Mr Fell. Do go on in.”

Medoc thought that the angel had covered him under the misdirection as well, but as they passed the doorman, he caught his eyes flickering up and down his body, taking in his bare and welted chest, his black eye, and the fact that he was barefoot with a wince.

_He can still see me,_ Medoc thought appalled, and he reached for his own powers, but the angel shook his head.

“Leave it,” he said.

Medoc looked around nervously at the fine furnishings of the club they had come to. It could have been the embassy of some well-favored country or the dignified headquarters of a wealthy philanthropic concern. It absolutely wasn't, and Medoc turned his face from the pair of men passing who looked him over with much less sympathy than the doorman had.

Meanwhile, the angel had stopped a young attendant on his way by.

“A room, please, and a bottle of red. Something good, mind you.”

They were shown to a small room with a crackling hearth and enough horsehair stuffed behind the wainscoting to keep any sound from escaping. To Medoc's relief, the angel took a seat at the small table by the hearth rather than the wide divan at the back.   
“Come. Sit.”

Orders. He could obey orders.

Medoc dropped into the seat across from the angel, watching with increasing trepidation as the angel poured out a glass of the wine.

“Drink that. All of it, if you please.”

Medoc didn't like alcohol, and what they made on Earth was not so different from what they made in Hell. Wherever it came from, it left him heavy and a little sick, out of his head but unpleasantly tethered to his body. The red wine was dry on his tongue with a richness and a heaviness that made him think of beef broth or blood. He drank it down as quickly as he could, trying not to retch when it hit first his tongue and then his stomach.

He put down the glass, and the angel poured another.

“There. This one, too.”

Medoc's hand shook as he picked up the second glass that seemed somehow even more full than the first. He couldn't bolt this one as quickly, but drinking slowly made him taste it. It seemed to take forever before he was done, and he had to stare at the bottom of the glass for balance for several long seconds before he slid the glass back.

Slow tears started in his eyes as the angel poured a third glass and looked at him considering.

“I can't,” he whispered in spite of himself, and the angel smiled.

“Of course you can. You might disgrace yourself by throwing up on the carpet or dash your brains out on the hearth, but you certainly could.”

Medoc let out a slow breath of release when the angel took the glass for himself .

“It seems to me,” the angel said at last, “that you are a touch confused regarding the nature of choice.”

“Angel-”  
“A temptation is a choice.”

“I know that ...”

“I do not think you do. Your predecessor, he understood. _He_ knew that a temptation must always be a choice. Did you think that you were tempting me earlier this evening?”

Medoc stared at the tabletop between them, studying the whorls of the wood.

“It's all right,” the angel said almost gently. “Tell me.”

“I thought I was giving you something you wanted.”

“You thought I wanted to be sexually assaulted by a demon.”

Medoc flinched.

“I thought you wanted-”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“I love you,” Medoc said helplessly, and the angel nodded.

“And I love you as well.”

The angel rose to his feet. When Medoc went to follow him, he shook his head.

“No. You are going to make a choice tonight. You may choose to leave this room whenever you wish. You are a demon of some power, and there is nothing stopping you. You can leave ahead of me right now if you like, cloak yourself in shadows and make sure no one saw you as you went. And if you do, you are no longer welcome in my presence.”

The wine he had drunk nearly came back up. He kept it down, but now it felt like a burning weight in his belly, sending a hot shudder through his frame.

“Or?”

“Or … you stay in this room. You do whatever is asked of you by the men who come in. You please them. You allow them do whatever it is they like to you.”

Medoc had never had much luck in keeping his face still, and the wine was acting on him now, loosening his control even further. He could feel his eyes go wide, his face go slack with dread. Uselessly, he froze as if tensing for some leap that might save him from whatever love wanted to do to him.

“Angel. Please.”

The angel nodded.

“I think after this evening, you will understand what a choice really is, and how _fortunate_ you are to have one.”

Medoc tried to speak. Almost sobbed. The angel waited patiently until Medoc composed himself.

“How long?” he croaked in a voice that barely sounded like his own.

“Until I come for you.”

There wasn't anything to say after that. The angel left, and he was alone in the room, though he knew he wouldn't be alone for very long. He paced back and forth, eyeing the bottle the angel had left. It had at least taken some of the edge off of the pain still throbbing from just below the shoulder. It wasn't broken, he thought, but it radiated pain every time he moved it carelessly, every time he tried raising his arm even close to shoulder height.

He was just convincing himself to try the bottle regardless of how sick it made him when the door opened, and a well-dressed stranger came in. The man was red around the face with a breath of the cold winter clinging to his clothes, and he looked a little stunned at the sight of Medoc by the fire.

“Well, you're a tall one,” he said, and Medoc would have shrugged if it wouldn't have sent another surge of pain through his side.

The man, even through the fog of alcohol, looked as uncomfortable as Medoc did, and he approached him warily, gaining a little more bravery as Medoc stayed still and quiet. The man's hand came up to Medoc's face, prodding without gentleness at the bruise that ringed his eye.

“Displeased your sir quite badly, did you?” he asked, and when Medoc didn't respond, the man pressed his thumb between Medoc's lips.

_Just a human_ , he told himself, sucking dutifully. _Nothing poisoned. Nothing barbed. Just a human, and what harm could there be in a human?_

He winced when the thumb hooked in his cheek, dragging him down and to the ground as the man took a seat at one of the chairs by the fire. He didn't let up the pressure until Medoc was knelt on the hearth in front of him, and then he pulled his thumb away with a pop, leaving him gagging slightly.

“Now I don't want any trouble,” the man said in what he likely thought was a firm way. “No cheek from you, young man, and no teeth or whining. I won't have it.”

He looked at Medoc expectantly, and Medoc nodded, hissing with pain when the man boxed his ear lightly. The blow sent a sharp ringing through his head, followed by a picture of himself ripping the man's belly open and letting his insides out.

“And no missish airs either,” the man said with growing confidence.

“No, sir,” Medoc said, and it must have satisfied because the man went to fumble with his trousers. What he drew out was small and worm-like, growing harder as he tugged it, and then his hand came back to tangle in Medoc's hair, drawing him forward.

He flashed back how it had felt doing this for the angel, what it was like doing this of his own will and how good that had been, and then he remembered the blow that came after it and the fury and recrimination that had hurt worse.

Medoc realized that he must have flinched because the man's fingers tightened brutally in his hair.

“Don't think that you are going to squirm out of this,” he said sharply, and Medoc swallowed around his cock, running his hands up the man's thighs appeasingly. He knew how to do that too, and he made himself as small and sweet as he could.

It didn't take long, and a short while later, the man was doing up his buttons and hurrying out, unable to sustain whatever illusion had gotten him into the room in the first place, and Medoc sat up on the floor with his back to the divan. He had barely caught his breath when the door opened again.

_All right,_ he thought tiredly.

He lost track of things for a while, and if there was anything real to him at all, it had less to do with the increasingly naked body that was being fondled and fucked on the floor and more to do with the cringing, weeping presence shoved as far back in to the corner of the room as he could be. He wasn't the one being told he was good or bad, only the one covering his ears and his eyes against the ugliness of it, because it was ugly the things you had to do for love.

It would have been a nice trick if he could pull it off, dividing himself entirely from what was happening, but of course he couldn't. It was only something that even humans could do, pretend they were elsewhere when they really were that poor thing being turned around and around, opened up and hit and willingly violated. It was a choice, the angel had given him that, and he was still saying _yes_ even when someone slapped him hard enough it cut his lip on his teeth, spilling blood down his chin. The blood made him sputter and gag, he couldn't stand the taste of it, and that earned him another kick to the ribs that joined his shoulder in one long shrill shriek of pain.

The impulse rose up in him to simply make it all stop. Medoc could. He wasn't human, and he was least like the helpless and victimized human these men thought he was. He knew what lived in them, and he knew how to send those monsters rabid. His fingers twitched to turn the men who hurt him inside out and leave them gibbering in the shadows for the staff to find, and he clenched his hands into fists against it.

The angel said to wait.

Eventually, it was over, and the door stayed closed. The fire was down, and he pushed closer to the coals to scavenge what warmth he could. He thought of nothing much, not of how much he hurt, or of how there were some half-dozen men wandering around London who now thought they owned a piece of him.

The door opened again, and this time, it was the angel, come to sit at the table. He gestured for Medoc to take the other chair, and he waited patiently for him to climb to his feet and stagger over. For several long moments, the angel only looked at him, and he did it in a way that only angels could, as if he were taking in ever wrong choice, every stain and every moment he would have taken back if it could. It hurt and at the same time, it felt almost painfully good to be finally seen.

Finally, the angel poured himself a drink, tipping the bottle in Medoc's direction.

“Would you care for a drink?”

Medoc shook his head. They both knew that he would drink if the angel told him to. They both knew a lot of things now.

“Why did you stay, Medoc?”

“Because I love you.”

“No.”

“I do, I do love-”

“No. You stayed because you chose to. _That_ is what a choice is.”

The angel drank his wine silently as Medoc stared at his hands on the table in front of him.

Finally, the angel rose.

“Thursday next,” he said. “I'll be over to yours some time after nine.”

Medoc tried a smile, but his split lip stung. He nodded instead, and the angel walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's strange enough that if you have any suggestions on tags or questions, I'm taking them.


End file.
